


Can I be your endless thought?

by Amie33



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/pseuds/Amie33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He died. It had to happen, one day, it’s not like he can run for ever and never face something lethal. It’s not like he doesn’t tend to find risky situations and angry aliens - he can’t help himself, really. He has tried to stay quiet and still, but it was boring and he couldn’t; he couldn’t. So he has run and fought and tried, and what should have happened happened. He died.<br/>Except that Time Lords don’t die; they regenerate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I be your endless thought?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clare009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare009/gifts).



> Based on Clare's prompt: _"It would be interesting to see - perhaps in a mini-sode or extra scene - when Eleven regenerates into Twelve, then Twelve takes Eleven’s sonic, when happens to have the same type of recorder that River’s did, and goes and uploads himself to the Library data core so he can be with River in a way. "_ Hope you'll like what I did with it!  
>  Title from _Walking Home In The Rain_ , by Scott Matthews.  
> Thanks to Kerjen for the beta!  
> One sentence has been *a bit* inspired by one of Mewiet's fic on tumblr -bonus point if you find it.

He died. It had to happen, one day, it’s not like he can run for ever and never face something lethal. It’s not like he doesn’t tend to find risky situations and angry aliens - he can’t help himself, really. He has tried to stay quiet and still, but it was boring and he couldn’t; he couldn’t. So he has run and fought and tried, and what should have happened happened. He died.

Except that Time Lords don’t die; they regenerate.

And so does he. Glowing hands and glowing body and a sudden explosion of light and fire - that’s what people can see. But they don’t know anything about the pain, how it feels to have every single cell of your body changing, dead then born again, like everything stops and everything starts at the same time. A life ends, another one begins, and yes he is the same, but no he is different. New body, new mind, new habits, new tastes - everything changes. Just the memories remain the same.

The process itself is exhausting, and he never knows how he’s going to react. It depends on the new him, his capacities, his strengths - physically, but also mentally. And he knows, the moment he’s about to die and everything is gonna stop and start again, this time he can’t be weak. He can’t fall and sleep for hours; he won’t have time. There’s something more important that can’t wait.

He has lived with that face for so long he can’t really remember how much time has passed. Years, centuries, perhaps more than that. He hasn’t counted, he never counts, counting is useless when you know the end will be the same. But it’s been a long time. Maybe more time than he has ever lived before.

He doesn’t know exactly why he has lasted so long. Is it because she protected him, all this time, not only from his enemies but also from himself? Or is it because he was more careful, because of her, because he owes it her to survive. He carries a part of her within him now, he doesn’t want her sacrifice to be useless - and he’s sure, by the way, that she would have killed him a second time if he dared to be killed.

Except now she’s gone. Gone for ever. He knows he won’t see her again. She isn’t here anymore to protect him. And it’s not important if he isn’t careful anymore, because she won’t see him, she won’t be disappointed. She isn’t there to remind him he’s important, for her, for the universe, and time passes by and he forgets.

The moment he dies, he wonders if it wasn’t on purpose. Of course, his death is stupid, but it is always stupid, isn’t it? But this time it’s different. It’s like he wanted it, it’s like he has looked for it. And certainly he has. He couldn’t face himself anymore - he remembered her, their memories, what they had, and he remembered she’s gone and he won’t have them anymore. It’s over but it hurts, and he can’t live like that forever, because it’s not him, it’s not how he works - and it’s not what she would have wanted.

So he died. And he regenerates.

It’s the easy way, really. Changing so the pain will be lighter. He won’t forget, of course, but it won’t be him anymore, he will still love her but it will be... different. She will be a ghost of his ancient life, like so many people about her - and so many people after her, he hopes. A fond memory he will be able to look at without collapsing -something that, with _that_ face, he could not.

But she is special. She was. As _that_ face was for her. And so he died, but he has a plan. Because he can’t just die and let her go - he can’t just die and let her _alone_. It’s not because he can’t stand himself anymore that she won’t. And now that she’s gone, for him, for good, forever, he knows it’s safe. No spoilers, nothing that can come between them. It’s the perfect time.

He lets death come to him, and when it finally comes there’s only one thought in his mind - be strong enough after the regeneration so he can have enough time time to execute his plan. Because if he can’t, this death would really be useless, and he would never forgive himself.

Fortunately, he seems to have enough willpower to get what he wants. He regenerates and he feels like he has more energy than he has never had. He takes a few seconds to discover who he is this time - looks at his hands and his feet, touches his face, vaguely sees his new muscles through his now-too-tight-clothes, chatters his teeth... A few seconds, that’s all.

His first movement is for his pocket, and it feels weird now, his arms don’t respond the way they used to and his fingers don’t touch like before. It’s all new, but he can’t stop right now. He manages to grab what he’s been looking for - his screwdriver, his old beloved screwdriver. He almost drop it a few times, and he has difficulties manipulating it, but finally it’s all okay. He opens its middle, his hands shaking with the effort - or maybe is it fear? Fear that it’s useless and it won’t work and maybe it’s too late?

He sighs in relief as green lights greet him: five complete welcoming green lights. He closes his eyes, just a second, and opens it again to be sure it’s not a dream, but it’s not. Good. Now he has to act. Quickly.

He runs to the console, forgetting everything he was doing before dying. It can wait. Well, no, it can’t wait, but he has a time machine, he will be back the second he leaves and everything will be alright. It has to.

He enters the coordinates, and in a few seconds he reaches the right place. At least he hope it’s the right place. He has the feeling it is. Even if he has made a mistake, he knows that the Tardis is by his side, and she would have landed in the right place.

He runs to the door and trips on the stairs. It feels really different; these legs are not as long and clumsy and crooked anymore, and he has to learn how to walk normally again. For now he doesn’t have time - time, time, time, time again, it’s always a question of time, isn’t it? - he _can’t_ stop to learn about new legs right now. It will wait after that, after it’s all done. He does what he has to, and afterwards, he will take care of his new self and of everything else.

The doors open and he smiles: it’s the right place. The right time. He knows it, just smelling the air. There’s still the electricity in the air and her perfume, behind it. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath -yes, she was there just a moment before, and he was there too, so young, so long ago, and yet only a few seconds before.

He doesn’t have much time. In a few minutes, a few seconds maybe, his younger self will run in the room, her soul in his hands and he can’t be there when it will happen, it will spoil everything. So he doesn’t take time to be nostalgic, he can’t listen to that pain that wrings his hearts, he can’t let his tears blind his sight, so he ignores them and walks to the giant computer waiting for him.

He doesn’t have to look for the interface he needs, he knows exactly where it is. His memories are vivid, so accurate his head aches -or is it one of the sides effect of the regeneration? He looks at his screwdriver as he approaches, and it’s like it’s not these new hands or this screwdriver, but his previous hands and another screwdriver. He doesn’t see his five green lights flashing but her remaining one, frail and almost gone. The moment his device comes in contact with the interface and the data are uploaded into the hard drive, it’s like he’s back in time. The sensation is exactly the same, the powerful feeling of a life being saved, of a mission being accomplished.

The transfer doesn’t take more than a second, and so does the feeling; a single second and it’s gone. He opens his eyes then and realizes tears blur his vision. He wipes them away, quickly, glancing at the screwdriver. The lights are gone, vanished, swallowed by the computer; at least he hopes so. He will never be sure, never check, never come back -because it was his only chance and if it hasn’t worked...

There are noises coming to his ears, and he knows he has to go. He has no time to think about what he’s done, no time for regret, no time for grieving. He leaves, hastily, reaches the Tardis and he’s gone before his younger self enters the room, and mimics his previous actions.

As the ships flies in the vortex, back to the friends and enemies he left, his heart is lighter. He knows that there’s a place when everything is right.

x.

He wakes up with a horrible headache, and the feeling that he has forgotten something, something very important. He blinks a few times at the blue sky and the blinding sun, and it feels weird. He doesn’t remember such a good weather the last time he was conscious. It remembers rain and cold, and fear and danger, whereas this place feels safe and welcoming. There is something wrong -no, not exactly, because this wrong feels like the rightest.

He manages to keep his eyes open finally, and suddenly he knows. Blonde curls, green eyes and a perfect smile. He remembers. He remembers everything. He remembers dying and thinking about her and he remembers his stupid plan.

He looks at his hands and his feet, touches his face, but he doesn’t have to, he can see it thought her eyes. He’s him -her him, the right him.

It has worked.

He beams at her, and her lips curl in a smile.

“Hello, Sweetie.”

**the end**


End file.
